


two of a kind

by fluffysfics



Series: the most infuriating seventy seven years of his life [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, M/M, Terrible Coping Mechanisms, canon compliant to Rose, it’s time for the Sad Boys Club, the Master’s time on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: After a decade of chasing the Doctor, the Master finds a new incarnation standing by the flaming ruins of a London department store. This one feels...different.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: the most infuriating seventy seven years of his life [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147559
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	two of a kind

The glow of heat from the burning remains of Henrik’s department store is enough to warm the Master’s skin; even in the dead of night, even though he’s sat a perfectly safe distance away. He’s just watching, quietly, as the firefighters bustle around to put out the blaze. He knows the Doctor. They can never resist coming back to check on their own messes. 

He hasn’t met this one before. Barely even knew that he existed. But this Doctor radiates grief and misery in a way that’s utterly staggering; he’s even seen a few more psychically sensitive humans jolt and stare in surprise as this one walks past in the street. It’s hypnotic, it’s fascinating, and the Master _wants_ him. 

So he will wait, as he’s done over and over again these last ten years. 

It’s not often that he actually gets to speak to the Doctor. Usually, he just catches a glimpse. Sees one of them walking out of a shop, running from an alien, picking up a companion. 

He saw _his_ Doctor once, just once. She’d slipped into a sweet shop, companionless, and emerged stuffing a paper bag into her pocket so furtively that he was sure it had to be something suspicious. 

He’d wandered into the shop right after her, just in time to see the owner replacing a jar of ginger humbugs on the shelf, and that had almost been enough to make him laugh bitterly. She was a _mess_. He still couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw her up against a wall and scream at her, or fall to his knees at her feet. 

The times he has actually managed to speak to a version of the Doctor have been the best. The Master had found the forgetful one out on a walk in the southern English countryside; they’d talked, and he’d even gotten a kiss- admittedly not a difficult feat, as that one seemed to like to kiss everyone. But it had been _nice_. Easy to forget who the Doctor really was. 

Most of the other times he’s spoken to one of them have been more brief. Quickly asking for directions, lending a hand with something for a minute- something that would earn him a smile and a hasty ‘thank you’ before the Doctor went on their way. 

Even that is always enough to give him a buzz, though. A spark of electricity that gets his hearts pounding faster, keeps him going for days. It’s a good way to fill his time, and it keeps him out of his depression, even if it might not be the most...the...

His thoughts trail off in a sudden wash of misery. The Master snaps himself out of it, glances around- he’s here. The sadness emanating from him is palpable, and there’s no eye to this storm. It just gets stronger and stronger, even as his legs stand him up and walk him closer to the Doctor. 

He’s standing perfectly still, close enough to the flames that it has to be drying out his skin, not that the Doctor has ever cared about things like that. That dramatic leather jacket is shifting ever so slightly in the breeze, and as the Master steps up beside him, he can see an expression of inscrutable, uncontainable sadness on his face. 

“They’re saying that no one died in the fire,” he says softly. The Doctor jumps; his expression clears suddenly, smooths out to a smile. That pain is still there in his eyes, though. 

“Oh, yeah. Should hope not,” he says, clearly trying to sound cheery. “Only person in there was this girl, Rose, an’ I did tell her to run.” The Doctor shoves his hands in his pockets, turning back to the flames. 

That should be the end of the interaction. He’s got to pretend to be nothing more than a concerned human, and a concerned human would probably walk away now. 

But...this sadness is so deeply, magnetically alluring; the Master can’t resist staying where he is. He can’t resist reaching out, gently enough that his mental presence won’t be detected, and pressing against the Doctor’s mind. He’s got to find out what the cause of this sadness is; he has a suspicion, but it’ll be good to—

_Fire. Blood, fire, ash, death. So much death. A running count- the children, a number ticking up once per second that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be finished with. A button- just one button to end it all- and he does. He does_. 

The Master gasps as if he’s just been punched in the stomach, stumbling back. His legs give out, and he drops to the floor, dazed, a pitiful whimper falling from his lips. 

The Doctor’s reaction is immediate. That little display had attracted the attention of a couple of concerned firefighters- he waves them off, quickly crouching next to the Master. “Right- hello. I’m a doctor. _The_ Doctor, actually. What’s going on?” 

“You burned them all,” he murmurs, eyes unfocused. Suddenly, he’s lost in memory; rage, all-consuming rage that had left blood on his hands, on his face, left him burnt and injured and utterly wrecked inside, left his entire planet in total ruin. 

He’s sprawled on the pavement maybe half a foot from the only person in the universe who could ever understand how that had felt. 

The friendly concern has dropped from the Doctor’s face. He’s digging in his pocket, pulling out his sonic- the Master remembers just in time to fling up his mental defences, project _human_ at full strength as he’s scanned. 

“...Hmm,” the Doctor says. 

The Master just stares at him, wide-eyed. Carefully, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, and then up onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. 

He wants to ask how it had felt. Who had died first. What the screams had done to his psyche, if he’d stuck around to hear them at all. He wants to pull the Doctor into his arms and hold him as tight as he can, feel their hearts beating against each others’. They’re two of a kind. The _only_ two. 

“My sonic says you’re human,” the Doctor informs him, looking extremely suspicious. “You have a history of psychic activity, by any chance?” 

The Master nods slowly, because he knows he’ll be in for more questioning if he denies this. He doesn’t trust himself not to blow his cover if he speaks. 

He shifts a little closer to the Doctor, gazing deep into his eyes. The sadness there is intense, unending, _addicting_ \- he knows that feeling. He knows the waves of misery that crash and burn and ache; they’d had him sprawled on the floor of his TARDIS for a solid two weeks without food or sleep, when he’d first burned Gallifrey to the ground. He’d only pushed himself up from the floor eventually because a revenge plan had sparked in his mind- he’d been fine with the idea of lying there until this body wasted away, letting a new one burn through and wash the blood from his hands. 

“...Hello?” 

He blinks. “What?” 

“Asked you if you need some help getting home,” the Doctor says. “Don’t think you should be walking by yourself. Not in this state.” 

He’s probably got a point. The Master nods weakly. A little more time with this Doctor doesn’t seem like it could be a bad thing. 

The Doctor stands up, and for a brief moment, the Master is on his knees, gazing softly up at him, and it feels- it feels—

He stands up hastily before he can mentally finish that sentence. Thinking about the fact that it felt so _right_ to kneel for the Doctor isn’t going to get him anywhere. 

“Here. Where are we headed?” The Master takes the arm he’s being offered, wrapping both hands around it. The leather jacket is firm beneath his touch, and he lets two fingers rest casually on the Doctor’s wrist, feeling his pulse. A steady _one-two-three-four_ that doesn’t betray his anguish in the slightest. It’s still rolling off of him in waves- if anything, it feels stronger now than before. 

“We’re going...just round the block, really. I live close by.” The Master pulls the Doctor in the right direction, trying to resist the urge to question him. He fails pretty quickly. “In your head, Doctor...what did I see? What was that vision?” 

“The Time War,” the Doctor says, his voice stern and sad and his gaze fixed firmly straight ahead. “Nothin’ for humans to worry about, I promise. It’s over now. I made sure of that.” 

“You say human like you’re not,” the Master probes, hoping for one of those little Doctor-y speeches about the Time Lords’ role in the universe. 

“I suppose I do,” the Doctor says, and the Master tries not to pout. 

Instead, he presses a little more firmly against the Doctor’s side, acting like his little psychic meltdown is still affecting him. “I get flashes from people in public sometimes,” he murmurs. “But yours...that was so _strong_. The feelings...Doctor, you’re like no one else. It was extraordinary.” 

“You’d do better to forget about me,” the Doctor says gravely. “Forget that I was ever here. Go back to your life. Don’t try and chase me.” 

_Oh, if only he knew_. 

“I won’t,” the Master promises, like the liar he is. They’ve reached his building now, and he pauses outside, turning to face the Doctor. “We’re here. I live on the second floor, I’ll be okay to take the lift up by myself.” He steps just a little closer, gazing up into those sad eyes for just a few seconds longer. 

“Take care,” the Doctor says, still looking thoroughly uncertain about this whole situation. 

“You too, Doctor.” On a whim, the Master leans up, pressing the briefest of kisses to the Doctor’s lips. Then he darts for his building’s front door, typing in the access code and scurrying for the lift. 

When he’s back in his flat, he twitches aside his bedroom curtain, and finds the Doctor staring up at him. Not two seconds later, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving the Master half-wondering if he’d been suspicious or if he’d been expecting an invitation to come upstairs. 

He laughs softly to himself, going to lie down on his bed without even taking his shoes off first. Those scenes of Gallifrey on fire still burn in his veins like molten honey, sweet and red-hot and painful. There is nothing for him to do but bask in them, let them burn away at his mind until they’re all he can think about. 

The Doctor used some kind of super-weapon to destroy the planet, he knows that much. Probably the Moment. He sighs, imagining what it must have felt like to push that button. To watch the whole planet burn in an instant, a terrible second that wiped out two species in one. 

Sometimes, he swears that he can still feel the burns and the blood from his own destruction of Gallifrey. He hadn’t had the luxury of a super-weapon. Hadn’t wanted it, at the time. He remembers the pain and exhaustion of dragging each and every body to the Capitol, piling them up for a purpose he still hasn’t decided on. When his exile here is over, maybe he’ll burn them. Maybe he’ll have the Doctor watch. Perhaps that will be enough to break her, drag her down to his level. 

He can fall to his knees in front of her, then, and ask her to rule over an empire of fire and blood with him. Oh, they’d be _glorious_ together. 

He wants to kiss her in the ruins of their planet, wants to let the depravity of it drive them both out of their minds, wants all of this to _end_ — 

He doesn’t quite realise that he’s crying until a tear finds its way to the corner of his mouth. 

Shivering, the Master wipes at his eyes, pressing them tighter shut. He’s a mess. He’s beyond that; sometimes, he barely feels like a person anymore. Just a collection of fragile threads, held together by a purpose. Find the Doctor. Chase them. And he’s tired of moving around, tired of hunting them down, but at the same time, he’s _scared_. If he stops this, he’ll have nothing. And then he really does think that he might fall apart. 

The Master hugs a pillow close against his chest, pressing his face into it and letting the tears spill out freely. He’s _broken_. He’s utterly shattered, and he’s so tired of hiding it. He wants someone to hold him close and tell him it’s going to be okay. No- he wants the _Doctor_ to do that. 

It’s impossible, and he knows it. But soon enough, maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll have her in his own twisted way, and maybe then she’ll hold him in her arms. Maybe then she’ll sink low enough to care about him like he cares about her. 

He just has to get through fifteen more years. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this one! comments and kudos are very very much appreciated <3


End file.
